


Open mic night in Freeside.

by Trystero



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas, Punk Rock RPF, The Misfits (Band)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Punks take over the King's School of Impersonation, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trystero/pseuds/Trystero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starring Misfits-era Glenn Danzig as The Courier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open mic night in Freeside.

It was open mic night at the Kings.

Mostly this attracted a few drunken fools singing cowboy songs that everyone was well fed up with from hearing a gazillion times on Mojave Music Radio. Then a member of the Kings would come on stage and blow them out of the water with a pitch-perfect rendition of Mystery Train or His Latest Flame.

But tonight was different.

“I’d like to sing a song about my dog.”

The man on the stage was frightening and hilarious in about a 70:30 ratio. He was short but extremely muscular. His black hair was trimmed neatly at the back but flopped in front of his eyes in a bizarre long V-shape that reached to his chin. He wore makeup that had looked silly at the bar but created a creepily evocative hollow-eyed skull effect under the stage lights.

The dog in question was standing next to him on stage, baring his fangs and looking generally deranged. Half his brain was missing, and he had Legion graffiti on his flank.

All conversation ended as deafening guitar chords made every man in the room’s ribcage vibrate.

“We walk the streets, I'm out to get you - we bite!  
Just a feast of gore and blood - we bite!  
Carnivores live for pleasure - we bite!  
Strike out like a wolf's endeavour - we bite!

And when I get your blood I rip your throat  
I want your blood, I rip your throat  
To drink some blooooooooooooood!

We bite! We bite! We bite! We bite!”

There was dead silence as the raucous guitars suddenly cut out at what the stunned audience could only assume was intended to be the end of the song.

“Thank you, thank you,” said the singer.

A lone clapping sound came from the back. It was a man in a dapper suit and fedora, sitting with a man similarly well dressed.

“Bravo,” said the man.

The singer rested his eyes on him and gave a miniscule nod of recognition.

“This next song is about a man I know who likes to use a ripper. It’s called Death Comes Ripping.”

The audience steeled themselves for another onslaught and were not wrong. Blistering guitar noise shook the building.

“Turn the lights down low! and bolt the doors up  
the future is coming, future rising  
shotgun blast, a demon piece of meat

With both eyes open  
I wait up for the kill  
feel the evil  
feel the heat as I rip you open!

Wha-oh! death comes ripping  
and I know it, death comes ripping  
you feel the heat as death comes ripping  
rip your back out  
death comes ripping out!”

Abrupt silence again.

The man at the back nodded graciously and raised his glass to the singer. What could have been a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

No one else dared to move.

The band, who were composed of Fiends from nearby Vault 3, stared out at the audience. A few people lost their nerve and started weakly clapping.

“Hellooooooo New Reno!” bellowed the singer, killing the clapping. The band sniggered.

“This is our last song. It’s about my house. It’s called, We Are The 38!”

The words to this song seemed to be WE ARE THE 38! shouted over and over again.

As the song ended and the band walked off-stage, the King himself meandered past them onto the platform.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said to the departing band. “Always nice to see somethin’ new. Well I tellya, Mr Sixsixsix and his band have inspired me. I’d like to sing a song myself.”

The crowd cheered, partly because the King performing was an unusual treat, but mostly from relief at being spared any more of the Courier and his terrifying Fiend band.

“This song is dedicated to that same man, the one who likes to use a ripper.”

The King fixed his eyes on the man in the back.

“You look like an angel,  
Walk like an angel  
Talk like an angel;  
But I got wise -  
You're the devil in disguise!  
Oh, yes you are,  
The devil in disguise.  
Mmm-hmm.”

Throughout the song, The King kept his eyes on the well-dressed man at the small table in the back. The man gazed back at him with one corner of his mouth very slightly quirked up.

“You fooled me with your kisses  
You cheated and you schemed  
Heaven knows that you lied to me  
You’re not the way you seemed.”

Rapturous applause broke out from the other members of the audience, mainly Kings, as the song ended. The King took a single bow and sauntered offstage. He strolled through the crowd towards the door, nodding and slapping hands with people as he passed them. At the last table, he paused by the well-dressed man and his besuited friend.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d never come here again,” he said quietly. He didn’t wait for a response and moved off, out of the room and out of the building.

Outside, Legionaries roamed the city, groups of slaves scurried past. Courier Sixsixsix and his Fiend friends were leaning against the building, smoking.

“Sorry I missed your song, King Kong,” rhymed the Courier. “Sure it was great though. I always liked your stuff, that’s why I fixed it with Caesar to keep you up and running; pretty sweet of me huh.”

King sighed. Sometimes he wished he’d been crucified along with most everyone else. He glanced resentfully at the Courier, and couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.  
“Thank you, thank you very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> We Bite, Death Comes Ripping and We Are 138 are by The Misfits.  
> (You're the) Devil in Disguise is, of course, Elvis Presley.
> 
> This story was originally written for the Falloutkinkmeme.


End file.
